


I'm Nothing if not Crazy (About You)

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:51:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: prompt: Shaw breaks her leg/sprains her ankle and Root insists on carrying her everywhere instead of just letting her walk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Nothing if not Crazy (About You)

Shaw grits her teeth, feeling them grinding back and forth painfully. Her hands grip the metal rims on either side of the cot she lays on- knuckles turning white, threatening to split. Her eyebrows are knit, and a bead of sweat slides past her ear.

"Can. You. Hurry. Up." Shaw’s words are choppy and strained. "I could. Have done better. Myself."

From the lower portion of the cot, her eyes are daggers at Harold Finch, who tries his best to position her leg. He lifts it up, moves it tentatively, looks a moment, then repeats. Each time, she can feel her bones sliding across one another jaggedly, and her grip only grows tighter on the cot. Looking at her surroundings, she tries hard to think of anything but the pain. The walls are white, and everything smells of antiseptic. Only one florescent light is on- the rest of the casting wing closed for the weekend.  _How convenient,_  Shaw thinks, her teeth grinding harder as Finch sets her leg for the fifth time.  _How thoughtful for hospitals to have the weekends off. Really opens a lot of doors._

Her sarcasm is cut short by another shift in her lower leg, and Shaw’s muscles instantly seize up, veins in her neck threatening to burst. Looking past Harold and to the darkness beyond him, her eyes look through the glass paneled walls. She sees John Reese first, face expressionless but eyes haunted by the procedure. He is nothing more than a dark face and a dark bodily silhouette. Her eyes drift over slightly, and she sees another shadowy figure. Like John, her body is nothing more than a black outline, but her face is crisp and clear.  _Root_. Her lips are pressed together tight, eyebrows furrowed and eyes nervous. They are trained on Harold- her leg- but come up to meet Shaw’s. Root’s eyes soften, revealing worry and empathy.  _Hate for them to see me like this…_ Shaw trills to herself. She tries to give Root a smile, but Harold re-positions once more and it comes out a grimace.

* * *

 

"For God’s  _sake_ , Harold!” Shaw shouts, darting into a sitting position. She ignores the groan of her bones at the swift movement. “How hard is it to set a snapped  _femur_?!” Her voice is filled with anger, threatening to kill, but Harold looks indifferent.

"Not  _all_  of us have medical expertise, Miss. Shaw. I can only know  _so_  much, and this is not the cleanest cr-“

"Just get out of my way," Shaw spits, smacking his hands off. From outside the room, she hears shuffling, a handle jiggle, then a sudden stop with heated voices bickering. Taking a quick glance up, she acknowledges an animated Root- arms flailing and pointing to the room- arguing with John, a man holding to his cool physique. Shaw brings her gaze back down, focusing.

Closing her eyes, she gives one swift pull on her right leg.  _Up, left, down_. There is a grind and a click. Shaw lets out a heavy breath, feeling the pain, but also knowing it’s back in position. “Get me two packs of gauze, a bag of casting material, and a bowl of warm water.”

Harold obeys, picking supplies off the walls and handing them over to Shaw. With educated precision, she wraps her upper and lower leg in soft white gauze. Then, tearing a cast bag open with her teeth, pulls the yellow-tinted mesh from its bag. She soaks it in warm water for a moment, then brings it to her leg, slowly unravelling the material as she loops it around and around. Keeping it snug, she continues down; over her knee, along her calf, stopping at the ball of her foot, before starting back. As soon as it runs out, she dampens the second mesh, and continues where she left off. After a few, silent minutes, the procedure is done and the cast itself hardens. Shaw gives Harold another nasty look before swinging her feet over the bed to stand.

However, the immobility of her dead weight leg throws her viciously forward, and Harold barely has time to grab her arm, keeping her from a face plant. Once balanced, she shrugs him off.

The casting room door slides open, and Root walks in a little too quickly to be casual. Her eyes, too, are bitter towards Harold, and Shaw can barely suppress the quirk of a smile.

"A-"

"Fine, Root," Shaw says before she can even get out the sentence. Root closes her mouth, but a smile is there.

"Can you walk on it?"

"I can try," Shaw replies, heaving her now three times as heavy leg forward. The bottom gives a dull smack against the marble flooring.

"You can try tomorrow, Shaw," John’s voice comes from the dark as he becomes bathed in white light. He is hunched over slightly, wheelchair handles in his hands. He wheels it up to her, holding it so it won’t roll off. Shaw starts to turn, lips pressed tight with the difficulty of even this small task, but finally makes the 180 to sit. She starts to ease down, hands fanning out behind her for anything to hold, unable to bend her right leg at all.

Just as she starts to fall, Root grabs her under the left arm to hold her steady. Shaw shoots her an annoyed glare, but allows Root to help lower her into the wheelchair. Once seated, Root drops to a crouch, positioning the chair’s footrest. Shaw watches her, debating on thanking her, but decides against it. She swipes away at the pesky guilt in her mind as Root stands once more.

"Are we ready?" Harold asks, straightening his jacket. They all nod in return. With that, Harold heads out of the room, flicking off the sole light. Behind him is John, walking with silent footsteps. Shaw starts to reach for the wheelchair’s wheels, when it starts to roll. Feeling a presence right behind her, she looks up to see Root, a self-indulgent smile on her face.

"Root?"

"Sweetie?"

"I got it." Taking the wheels in her hands, Shaw pushes over and down, picking up speed as Root’s hands fall away. Root stays at Shaw’s side, barely a step back, as the four sneak out of the hospital the same way they came.

_______\ If Your Number’s Up /_______

Shaw hears the crashing of metal and tearing of plastic as the wheelchair topples over the edge of the subway terminal. With a satisfied smirk, she drags herself at an agonizingly sluggish pace back to Harold’s desk. It takes her a good minute until she finally plops herself into his chair, but the satisfaction never leaves her face.

"Sameen?" Root’s voice is anxious, coming from farther off in the station. Shaw hears her boots clicking quickly across the titled floor, and she runs into view a moment later. Her eyes do a quick sweep, land on Shaw, then lose their worried tint. They harden slightly as she says, "Don’t scare me like that."

"Like what?"

"I heard the echoing down the terminal. Sounded like your wheelchair rolled over the edge."

Shaw smirks wickedly. “It did.” Root sighs in exasperation, tilting her head to the side with little amusement. She walks up to Shaw, leaning against the desk.

"Why?"

"It was getting on my nerves," Shaw replies with anger, thinking of how virtually impossible it made maneuvering throughout the subway.

"So  _naturally_  you had to throw it down to the tracks,” Root’s words are thick with chastisement, but Shaw only smiles at her. Part of it being triumphant, but mostly glad to see her after spending the day alone.

"I didn’t  _throw_  it…” Shaw says, suppressing a laugh. “I  _pushed_  it. It has brakes- it could have stopped if it wanted to.”

"Ha. Ha." Root replies without humor, but a small smile breaks onto her face. With a sly look, she says, "So how are you going to get around now?"

"I’ll walk."

"Oh,  _please_ ,” Root responds, laughing as she pushes off of the desk.

"I will." Shaw insists with aggression. Root comes close, putting her hands on Shaw’s shoulders from behind and her mouth beside Shaw’s ear.

"I’d like to see you try." Pulling away, Root spins the chair and walks away backwards. She steps back ten feet, and Shaw watches, the chair having stopped directly facing Root. Once satisfied with the distance, Root speaks up again. "If you make it to me- walking- before I count to twenty, then you’ve got me beat." Shaw smirks, mind relishing the challenge.

"And what do I get if I win?" She asks; now it’s Root’s turn to smile.

"I can think of a few things," she replies. Shaw can’t suppress the small chuckle that escapes her lips. With a small grunt, she comes to a standing position, and Root begins to count.

"One.." Shaw makes a move, good leg first. "Two.. Three.. Four…" Shaw finally drags the injured one up to the first, then repeats the process. "Five.. Six.. Seven…" On and on Root counts, and on and on Shaw shuffles, until Root finally hits twenty. Steam billowing from her ears, Shaw takes in her position- barely half way there.

"So what if I can’t  _move_  fast,” Shaw spits, defending herself from Root’s I-told-you-so eyes. “I can still  _walk_.”

"I don’t think it’s a good idea," Root responds seriously, closing the large gap between them. "You’ll never heal if you use it."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Shaw says in a silent voice, words singing irritated cords. "Because I am  _not_  using another one of  _those_.” She points to the edge of the terminal, eyes never leaving Root’s. Root watches her a minute, mind reeling and thoughts swirling behind striking eyes.

"I can carry you."

Shaw laughs, then comes to quiet submission when she realizes Root is serious. “Root, you couldn’t pick me up  _without_  the cast, what do you expect now?”

"I can try-"

"No way in  _H_ -“

"It’s the only option we’ve got." Shaw starts to open her mouth. "Well- wait- it’s the only option I’m  _okay_  with.” Shaw’s mouth closes, all out of contradicting arguments.

"Fine," Shaw says at last, winning a smile out of Root. "Can’t wait to see how  _this_  turns out.”

Root walks a small half circle around Shaw, wrapping her arms snugly around Shaw’s center. Shaw waits, nerves jittering off the charts as Root’s arms remain tightly linked around her. She swallows, and congratulates herself for the normalcy in her voice. “Don’t be enjoying yourself too much,” she warns Root with a voice masking all interest. From behind, Root’s smile is amused, eyes radiant.

"Only a little bit," she replies, then lifts up. Her grip tightens, and Shaw feels the breath being squeezed from her lungs as her toes momentarily leave the ground. Root slides back a few steps before placing Shaw back down heavily. Once more she tries, and once more she only makes it a few steps. Scrunching her mouth to the side in thought, she looks Shaw up and down. She comes around to Shaw’s flank, running one hand along Shaw’s back in the process; Shaw feels a shiver run down her spine. Root, keeping her hand there, brings her other out in front of her.

"Jump," she tells Shaw, who snorts indignantly.

” _Jump_? You’re telling the woman who ‘can’t’ walk to  _jump_?” Root drops both hands to her sides, eyes widening in frustration. Her jaw is set, annoyance on her features, but all Shaw can do is think of how adorable it looks on her.  _No, I did not just think that,_  she spits to herself, small smile instantly gone from her face. She watches Root shift, face now open with thought.

"I have it." She says at last, coming face to face with Shaw. The two stare at each other a moment, then Root turns in place, arching her back slightly and bending her knees. "Get on my back."

Shaw rolls her eyes, head shaking in disbelief. She brings her hands to Root’s shoulders, but stops. “You’re crazy,” she replies.

Root looks back to her with a smile. “Crazy about  _you_ ,” she counters, and Shaw feels her cheeks heat up. “Now get on.”

_____________\ We’ll Find You /____________

"Wonder how Shaw’s been holding up," John Reese ponders aloud to Harold as they walk into the train station together.

"Hopefully well, I don’t want any broken equipment on my hands," Harold replies, and John smiles. They hear loud stomping, a yelp, and a crash. John jogs forward silently, unholstering his gun, with Harold on his heels. Coming to headquarters, he hears the unmistakable rumble of laughter, and stops. Placing his gun back to its home, he raises a hand to silence Harold. John’s eyes are filled with amusement as he looks at the two comical women on the floor before him.

Root lays sprawled out on her stomach, arms pinned at her rib cage. Shaw is flat atop of her, one broken leg out to the side, with her hands on either side of Root’s head. Both chuckle uncontrollably.

"I’m stuck," Shaw laughs out, trying to roll over with little success.

” _You’re_  stuck?” Root throws back, struck with her own giggling fit. “ _I’m_  the one  _under_  you.”

” _Hey_ ,” Shaw responds, trying to compose herself, but failing. “This was  _your_  idea.”

” _This_  was not my idea,” she says. “My idea involved  _walking_ , not  _laying_.”

” _I_ got an idea,” Shaw tells her. “I’m going to plank up, and you can crawl out. Okay?”

"Okay," Root agrees. Shaw straightens her arms, feeling them start to shake with the extra weight of the full leg cast. She can feel her good knee starting to buckle. Root flips to her back, starting to slide out with the small space available.

"I’m- dropping!" Shaw says, all too late, as she lands with a hard smack back down. Instantly, Root groans in pain.

” _Jeez_ , Sameen, I think you just broke my rib,” she says in a strained voice, feeling the wind knocked from her. Shaw laughs once more, face alive and light with this humorously awkward situation. Shaw brings herself up on her elbows, and Root turns her head back to look at Shaw, laughing through the pain in her lungs.

"What if…" Shaw says through bursts of unsubduable laughter. "What if… John and Harold… Just walked in… walked in  _right_  now…”

"Already here." John responds, smugness in his words. Instantly, Shaw and Root go serious. Shaw bites her lip, feeling the color drain from her face, while Root starts to smile again.

"Hi, John- Harry," she greets warmly, craning her head back to see them. "Lend a hand?"

With a smile, John comes over and easily plucks Shaw up from her position, then proceeds to help her stand. Her face is flustered and hot, causing John’s smile to grow. She gives him a homicidal glare. From beside them, Root stands, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. The smile on her features is more than pleased, and Shaw wants more than anything to rip it from her face.

Shooting humorous eyes at Harold, John begins to walk back towards him. “I’m not sure what  _they_  were doing,” he says nonchalantly, “but do  _you_  want to grab dinner?” Harold nods, eyes still scanning the two women, wondering if there is even an answer.

"Get out of here? Yes, I’d be happy to," he turns back, and begins to head out.

"Wait for me!" Shaw calls out to them, throwing her good leg forward. Dragging her bad one up to meet it. "I’m  _starving_.”

"Me too," Root agrees. Voice not so loud, she tells Shaw, "So let’s try this again, but this time don’t  _smack me in the head_.”

"I didn’t mean to smack you!" Shaw spits back angrily, their voices growing slightly distant as the two men walk out of earshot. "You’re the one who- who  _touched_  my  _ass_!”

"I was  _trying_  to move my hands so you wouldn’t fall,” Root counters. John hears silence for a long string of seconds, betting on Shaw giving Root a hard look. Coming to the corner, he hears the last small fragment before it becomes lost within the subway walls. “Okay, so maybe that was just  _part_  of the reason, but…”


End file.
